Scarf
by Thriller Killer
Summary: (Oneshot) Sans, being lazy as always, sits around while Papyrus messes around outside in a forming blizzard, trying to capture the human known as Frisk. When he doesn't come back soon enough, Sans becomes impatient and antsy then searches for his little brother in the bitter cold. He begins to lose hope, until he sees something that will change his life forever.


**A/N: Hey, hey, hey, I'm TK and here today for an Undertale one-shot, yay! This prompt was stuck in my head for a while now, and it would have been published sooner if FanFiction hadn't decided to be a little bitch and delete the document. Haha. Yeah, I'm very pissed about that, but at least I rewrote it, and NOT on FanFiction docs.**

 **So, sorry if it sucks, I had to rewrite EVERYTHING. I hope you understand.**

 **Anyways, read and review!**

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Sans, the big boned skeleton who was the older brother of the Great Papyrus, was currently sprawled across their couch lazily while watching Mettaton rattle on about how amazing he was on the television. He snorted. Papyrus really liked the show, but Sans didn't get the appeal of it. The star robot of the show was quite, well, a douchebag honestly. It was actually pretty funny to Sans, listening to all of the compliments Mettaton gave to himself and how he bluntly advertised MTT Brands in front of his audience of about nine people. After a few minutes, the skeleton almost nodded off, until he felt drool slipping out of the corner of his ever grinning mouth and quickly snapped up to wipe it away. No way he was going to be embarrassed by something as simple as that when Papyrus came back from whatever he was doing. It wasn't like Sans was worried or anything about him, although his brother was a bit of an innocent cinnamon roll, he could take care of himself perfectly fine. Maybe someone could take advantage of his fragile insecurity he hid and kind spirit, but if they did then Sans would bash their heads in. He wouldn't let anything happen to his brother. Ever.

Finally, he noticed his growing anger when his exposed teeth began to grind against each other from being gritted so hard. Sans released his fists and flexed his bony hands, watching the joints roll around with no need for the movement support muscles provided for humans.

Speaking of humans, there was one that had recently fell down. They intrigued Sans deeply, and gave him a dark feeling. Whenever the kid was around he could just shudder and run, but he remained strong. For he knew that no matter what, the human would have no chance against him. It was obvious even with their growing HP and better weapons. Sans would always be better, faster, harder. Still, chills ran down his spine and made his bones creak slightly when thinking about how careless and corrupted the fallen child was. They would not say anything, ever. They would not be nice or play fair. They were relentless and cold, with one word on their minds the whole time. Genocide. That kind of mindset wasn't human, Frisk was like a wolf in sheep's clothing. Just another harmless, little kid walking through until they stick a toy knife through your neck and turn you into fine, white dust. Sans shot more and more nervous glances outside of the window with each dangerous thought. His nerves seemed as if they were lit on fire. He shouldn't be thinking like this, it made him jumpy and on edge. The thought of Frisk and Papyrus both being out there...

With a shake of his head, he shooed the awful scenarios into the back of his mind. Nobody deserved to be murdered at the hands of that human, especially not Papyrus. Sans had to continually kick images away, each one worse than the last, until he could barely take it anymore. The skeleton threw the remote at the television and watched as spider webbed cracks spread from the site of impact.

"Dammit," a curse slipped from his mouth under his breath, knowing that sooner or later he would have to fix that. Or maybe Papyrus could, if-no, when-he came back.

This isolation was eating away at him slowly, which was unusual considering how he was almost always glad to have some break time from his little brother's constant hollering. Now, however, a sense of dread tapped on his shoulder and began crawling in between his ribs, constricting his chest and making his spine tingle. Sans stood up and walked into the kitchen, hands shaking slightly. Going into the kitchen was not actually the brightest idea. It had Papyrus written all over it, from the ridiculously tall sink to the fridge stockpiled with spaghetti. Sans grabbed a bottle of ketchup from the pantry and watched as it rattled in his hands. He returned to the living room (even though he is an undead skeleton, haha), and set it down on the coffee table before it could fall out of his grasp. A sigh rattled from his nonexistent lungs, and he rubbed his temples. It wasn't like there was anything that actually soothed him about it like humans, but it was still a gesture he made. Why did he get this ketchup out if he wasn't even in the mood for his favorite food? Drink? Whatever. At this point Sans was going to start clawing at his eye sockets.

Suddenly, a large shock of foreboding and darkness racked him and he hollered, "That's it! Paps, where are you?"

The bottle of ketchup was swept down and it spilled all over the table and carpet beneath as the skeleton zipped his blue jacket up. He flipped his hood up too, trying to prepare as best as he could for a long walk in the cold. Luckily none of the red sauce got on his clothes. The door banged against the wall with a loud bang, and Sans was met with a rush of cold air. A blizzard was starting over Snowdin, and he would have to bear through it if he wanted to find his dearest little brother. There would be no one to help him since everyone evacuated once they heard of a murderous human rolling into town.

"Paps!" The small skeleton cried out, calls being swept away in the gradually growing wind.

He plowed relentlessly through the deep snow banks and squinted against the hard blasts of frostbitten air. No sign of his little brother was anywhere, and he grew tired due to the effort it took to plow through the slicing wind and deep snow. Soon he was at the very edge of Snowdin, the long path where the fog rolled into on the way to the Waterfall. Just about ready to give about, Sans spotted a beacon of bright red fluttering way in the distance. New hope filled him and his pace increased until the red grew, but then he faltered. Why was the scarf of Papyrus on the cold, hard ground when it should be snug around his neck? Papyrus wouldn't ever take it off for the life of him, ever since he made his ridiculous makeshift battle armour.

"Oh, no," Sans muttered in despair once he came up to the scene.

A pile of off-white dust was sitting on the pure white snow, with the scarf flowing in the breeze on top of it all. The skeleton dropped down to his knees before the sight of coldblooded murder, taking in a rattling breath. Sans' hands were shaky as he reached out and grabbed the article of clothing, bringing it up to his face. Some of the dust was stuck to the red cloth and slipped through his bony fingers like sand. Blue, magic tears welled in his empty optics once he realized that this was what was left of his brother, and he would never be able to see him again. He knew who's fault this was, this was all the work of Frisk, the murderous human who could not stop their rampage even for the innocent Papyrus. The tears began to fall in quiet rivulets down his face once he caught the scent of spaghetti embedded in the fabric, and he stood up slowly.

Sans wiped away the artificial tears and choked back a sob as he began to wrap the pasta smelling scarf around his neck, until a large gale tugged it out of his hands along with the dust.

"No, Papyrus!" Sans screamed and held out a small hand as he called back his dead brother's remains. "No, no, no, oh please Paps!"

The echoing cries of pain were unanswered as the wind swept the gorgeous red scarf even farther away from him. His feet left deep gouges in the snow, and it didn't help when the wind changed direction and he had to turn back around to follow it. If anyone who was left in Snowdin looked out their window at that moment, they would see a mad monster running around and screeching incoherently when in reality it was a grief stricken older brother. Suddenly, Sans tripped over something hidden under the snow and fell face first into the bitter cold.

"N-no," he croaked and held out a hand to the scarf that was being taken away from him, just like the owner of it.

Almost like a cruel joke, the wind switched direction again and pummeled the skeleton's face, sweeping the cloth back into his gaze for a moment before it headed back over to Waterfall. A groan slipped from his ever grinning mouth quietly. Sometimes, Sans hated that he was always stuck with the same expression. He could still use his pseudo-brows, however, but he wanted to express things properly. This was one of the times. He wanted his mouth to be able to turn into a frown and let out a howl of loneliness of loss. He wanted to cry with all of his features and mourn. But he couldn't. Life is cruel, and so is the world.

His tears created a blue glow in the snow, and frost began forming around his skull and hands. So what if he got some weird version of frostbite for skeletons? Papyrus was gone, an his older brother couldn't have even done anything about it.

You could have done something!

"I know, I know, I know," Sans moaned and rolled over onto his side, clutching his head tightly. An ache grew in his chest, and more sobs wracked his body.

Sadness quickly dispersed into anger. It was all that human's fault, Frisk's fault that no one was here, Frisk's fault that the Underground was being destroyed, and Frisk's fault that Papyrus' soul was erased from existence.

A holler of rage boiled up Sans and he released it willingly, jumping up and out of the snow to kick at it in a blind rage.

"I'll get you! You hear this, kid?! I'LL TEAR YOU APART! YOU'RE GONNA HAVE A BAD TIME!" Sans' voice was broken by the gale, and he hoped it carried to wherever the little brat was now.

Frisk didn't even seem human. There was always something off, like how the kid stared so blankly or completely disregarded people. The 'human' was just so distant and dark. It even sent shivers down Sans' own spine, but he would never admit it, he would swallow his fear and be determined.

Papyrus' demise would not go unnoticed.

Frisk was going to have a very, very bad time.

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 **A/N: So, was it good? I'm sorry if Sans seems out of character, but I thought he would react like this when he found out his dearest little brother, Papyrus, died. He would be extremely sad and peeved, I would think. This was so depressing to write though, made me a bit sad. I almost cried when Papyrus died, though, because I'm a wuss and he's my favorite character. It was just so sad! (I'm using the word sad a lot. Why?) "I still believe in you!" Papyrus is so innocent. I LOVE HIM. HE IS MY CINNAMON ROLL.**

 **Please, review! It really helps to hear some feedback!**

 **Peace out, Rainbow Trout.**


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